The Arcturus Missions
Part Eighty One - Organics
Part Eighty
———
Oxygen is prevalent on Earth, element eight, colorless, odorless, and tasteless non-metal element.
When housed in a tank, oxygen is kept under high pressure at a high concentration. The typical twenty-one percent is increased to a one-hundred percent.
On Earth, the supply of oxygen is constant though unlikely limitless. Photosynthesis takes care of the process of turning the carbon dioxide breathed out back into oxygen to breathe in, when under pressure in a tank, that can’t occur without assistance.
In some place like the international space station, oxygen tanks are used, but they are used in pairs with oxygen generators. Where oxygen is made through electrolysis with water.
Similar systems were installed as part of the oxygen system of the Arcturus missions suits.
—
Inside the suit there were no visible gaps to the outside like they used to be, before leaving Earth.
When all the suits went in for their space based refits, as many of the gaps were filled as was humanly possible, so when the systems were off it was pitch black inside the cockpit.
So no light or sound came through without turning on the systems, though they could run through a low power mode most nights.
Almost none of the pilots dared turn their system off while they were inside, there was too much risk, especially out here. The quiet was not something that was easy to get used to.
There was no bird song.
Sometimes, she’d play a recording she had of it, just to hear something other than the typical whirs of her suit in low power mode.
There were other recordings that she had too, ones of the ocean or the city, all things she’d picked to ensure her sanity. Of course, she had her music too, unlike Side’s with his 90’s grunge, she had her mothers disco.
That was an acquired taste though, one she was still working through a bit.
With the bird song playing, she had a smaller speaker playing just a bit of ABBA to level her nerves.
Early mornings like this were kind of becoming her favorite point in the day, when it was quiet and the Cybertronian’s didn’t know if they were awake yet or not.
She and Side’s could get about an hour of just talking or relaxing before they were shaken up, when they would want to talk.
Right now she was content with her recordings.
It was the time like this when even some of the Cybertronian’s were getting a bit of sleep that she was coming to relish in.
It was how she used to feel in the evenings on Earth, but now if she was awake that early in the evening anymore, it meant she’d been on first watch. Which she hated more than almost anything.
But for now, the morning was just hers.
Mostly because Side’s had not spoken to her in the morning for almost two weeks now. Which was starting to concern her, though there had been a few times where he or she had been on part of the night watch, but plenty of days in between where neither of them had.
Arcee knew that is wasn’t entirely her wanting some quiet mornings, because Sideswipe was starting to act weird almost whenever they were together now, and not in an awkward crush kinda way.
More in a, he knows something she doesn't know, kind of way.
He’d been keeping to himself when it would be their usual time and when the others got involved he got defensive or worse. His anxiety was poking through more than anything else though.
It was just another reason the pair had never worked that well together on Earth.
Anxious strikers did not work with rescue class, it just was not healthy for either party.
Sitting, eating, and listening was her new routine. Even if she may miss the morning conversation, for the moment, she was content.
The food however was still a bit of a struggle, she still had a few MRE’s tucked under her piloting chair for when she couldn’t stand to stomach something in such a violent color but for right now when it was mostly dark it was easier to handle the hot mush that reminded her of rice porridge.
Not so much the ones from her childhood, the rich flavors of her mothers cooking long gone with the war but the ones that Mrs. Andrews had made it for her when she was unable to eat anything else.
Purple was at least not entirely unfamiliar for rice or at least something that tasted similar to rice, but she was still glad for the relative darkness.
Sipping from a water pouch, she sighs slowly before tucking her cube back under her bed. Cleaning it would come later when she had the patience for it, for now it was time to get back into the assistance suit.
She hated her assistance suit.
Percy had offered to help with it’s redesign, but that would take her out of the field for far to long. No, she would just grit her teeth and bear it for a couple more years. Like most female pilots.
That was a glass ceiling she hadn’t meant to shatter, but one she’d do again and again to feel like this.
This alive.
Connecting the last of her suit, Arcee started to bring the last bits online, turning down the audio inside before checking her microphone.
Blinking against the morning light as her monitors came on and letting out a breath, Cee stretched before adjusting in the piloting seat.
“Morning.” Elita’s voice was tired, having had the last watch for the night, having taken a night watch every single night they’d been on this planet, “Good morning.” And her voice was rough.
Even after being awake for at least an hour, some things just wouldn’t change.
The sad smile on Elita’s face caught her attention though, “Are you alright Commander?” Sighing deeply, the pink mecha shrugged a bit, “I merely have a lot on my mind Arcee, I grow more concerned for you and Sideswipe, especially when we're on planets like this one.”
Planets like this one, or rather, one where organic life can’t thrive.
They could survive for a little while, sure, but only a couple of days at most without their suits.
If that wasn’t a daunting thought, she didn’t know what was.
Nodding carefully, Cee shifted forward and folded her hands, sighing, “You’ve gotta have some faith in us, commander, ma’am.” It was like every time she turned around, she was having to cover for her mistakes, or the mistake of being born organic.
The thought almost brought a smile to her face, imagining being born like them. Biting back a smile, her grin was short-lived by the look on Elita’s face.
Shifting again, Arcee fidgeted with her hands a bit, “This has to do with Sideswipe being cagey, doesn’t it?” With a nod, Elita kept staring towards the horizon.
It took her a moment to collect herself before nodding again, “So, what’s going on?” There were a million thoughts that were running through her head or a million seniors, none of which were good.
Alright, so strikers weren’t the only ones with anxiety, sue her.
Shrugging a bit, Elita leaned forward and sighed, “A few people in our unit are going to be transferred, a few people from a few units are going to be to make up a new team. I told him who we likely would be losing.” Her nerves instantly leveled out.
They were the only team with two pilots on it, at least now, and she’d only been there because of obvious reasons.
”Oh, so me and who else?” The way that seemed to startle Elita made her smile a bit, shrugging, “All the pilots are spread through the units, you’ve even got Sunny and Sides split up, the fact I am here was for training purposes. The only reason I’m in the field regularly is because I have military experience, right?” Elita nodded.
Taking a breath, Arcee shrugged again, “So, me and?” Sighing quietly, Elita shook her head, “Moonracer, but she is going to Megatron’s unit. They need a sniper after losing two.” That brought her pause though.
No one would place her with Megatron, not after their last conversation.
Tilting her head slightly, she went to speak before Elita continued on.
“Optimus, the Prime I should say, is trying to put together a rescue team. We had them before the war, groups of mechs who worked both on Cybertron and the colony worlds, sometimes in general space to rescue and protect people. There were a handful of units during the war but almost all of them disbanded in the aftermath, just desperate to feel normal again. To get back to what they had been initially designed to do, even if they had the option of being something else now.”
There was something there that Arcee didn’t understand, or well, she’d heard some of the stories from Deadlock but you had to take some of those with a grain of salt.
Her throat tried to tighten, “And you think I would be good at that?” The distance in Elita’s gaze finally faded, “I think you would be amazing, I have not seen reactor training scores so high ever. I know it was your old class, as you say, on Earth but I swear to you it’s more than holding up collapsing buildings.”
The sincerity in her voice almost got under Cee’s skin, almost, “I fought for so long to get out of the rescue field Elita, commander, ma’am.” Sighing deeply, she leaned on her elbows.
”I was underestimated and stuck there, my scores too high to be wasted. I was saving dignitaries and diplomats for years and not helping people who needed me.” Her voice broke, it was hard to think back on that time.
Elita’s hand moved over and rested on her back, “You’ll still be in the field, still running missions like we do now, but with other units. Get there first to set up medical stations and prep the line for combat when we know it's coming, then be in the field for when things get bad. Someone like you could have saved someone like Hound.”
Her heart clenched.
Just because Elita didn’t understand completely didn’t mean she didn’t care, didn’t have good intentions.
Taking a shaky breath, Arcee nodded a bit, “I appreciate the confidence, but no, no one could have saved Hound and that’s okay. He didn’t die alone, that’s what really mattered.” Nodding carefully, Elita sighed.
”That actually connects to the next person who we hope to invite to the rescue team, your medic, Ratchet.” Talk about a record scratch, shock would have put it mildly.
Shaking her head quickly, Arcee almost laughed, “I’m sorry, Ratchet?” Nodding again, Elita sighed, “This time, both Prime and Protector believe it would be best if your medic was on that team, though Optimus for drastically different reasons than Megatron.” The look she was leveled with almost drew out an awkward laugh.
Organic secrets.
”He would like your medic to follow the units with pilots, in case the worst were to happen again.” Another far off look took over Elita’s face, “I wasn’t there, I didn’t see what happened to Hound but to know what I do now about you all.” Her voice wavered slightly.
Pushing up her visor, Arcee wiped at her eyes for a second, clearly Hound’s death was on Elita’s mind today. Likely often when they were on plants like this.
Clearing her throat, Elita shook her head a bit, “According to Prowl, he says that you all felt that it was luck that Ratchet was there when Hound died, even if he couldn’t do anything. Him being there was enough.” Nodding a bit, she let out a breath before lowering her visor again.
Dense clouds rolling in, she stared at them, “It is weirdly comforting, to know he was there at the end for Hound. To have someone trained to save our lives there, it's better than being alone, that’s for sure.”
Shrugging a bit, she picked at her fingers, “With Ratchet and Mirage having been there, I know Hound went in the best way he could have. Someone he loved and someone trying to save him, it’s more than any pilot could ask for. Especially out here.”
The unspoken fact that with the secret, they would die not as themselves was hard, but not impossible to deal with.
Afterall, you lived and died as a pilot, usually in your suit, so it shouldn’t be any different.
“So it will be Ratchet and I? On this rescue team?” Nodding a bit, Elita sighed, “Along with others, we are still trying to find some rescue bots who might desire to join. We are hoping to have one of our own medics on the team as well, though Nickel is not a candidate.”
That made her laugh, it made them both laugh.
Which was how Chromia found them, both struggling to breathe while laughing, still away from everyone else, thankfully just out of earshot from the rest of the unit.
—
The ringing in his ears was amazing, it making his head buzz and reminding him of the past.
It was perfect, without flaws, and his. Entirely his.
The hum of the rifle rang through his audials as each shot hit its mark near perfectly each time, though he was still adjusting to the difference between human perception and that of a cybertronian.
Part of it was that he was no longer looking through a screen to stare down his scope, which was improving his aim on the weapon with each trigger pull, and he’d already been considered a marksman before that.
Now he was expected to be the best sniper in this class of soldiers. Not dissimilar to his time in the Army on Earth, top recruit in his boot camp had helped him become a pilot all the sooner.
Maybe it would get him back out into the field sooner here too.
When the buzzer went off again, he laid into the targets, eyes flicking from one to the next in quick succession.
He shifted back to his knees when each target was red and glowing from being super heated, letting out a breath he didn’t really need, smiling as the mech holding what effectively was a stop watch stared blankly.
“Eight point two seven kliks. I believe that is a new range record, rookie.” Smiling a bit, Hound sighed again. The mech, Dion, had the barest hint of a smile on his face.
He was in charge of training new mecha for the military, apparently he had been a big deal in the early war before facing an injury that landed him on a colony world for a couple of millenia. Had gotten back only in the last hundred or so years of the war, now was in charge of training.
Reminded Hound of someone, or maybe two people from Earth. He could picture their faces but couldn’t recall their names.
It bothered him, a lot actually, because there was one thing he knew about his last life that he’d never forget. He had a pretty decent memory, especially for a pilot. Now though, the gaps set him on edge.
”Thank you, sir.” Turning on the safety, regardless of that fact it couldn’t harm anyone near them currently, he swung the gun around so it would stick to his back.
Dion offered a hand, which he quickly took with a grin, “Thank you again.” Being clapped on the shoulder quickly, it sent a tingle through his skin, as if his old aching shoulder were bothering him.
Things like that kept happening, he was reminded of how he used to wear reading glasses, aches and pains from where he had calluses under the joints of his assistance suit would pinch then scars that no longer existed would ache.
Like his appendectenomy scars, those annoyed him.
Stepping back away from the line, a flight frame took his place with a rather overly shiny rifle. Likely a family piece or something incredibly new.
His still had some scratched and scorch marks on it, things Optimus had offered to remove but he refused. It reminded him that he had been a part of this before, what he had been through before this.
Leaning against the wall for a moment, he closed his eyes and sighed again, tilting his head back to breathe deep. The hot air was uncomfortable but not any worse than the deserts he’d been to in his life.
The subtle reflection of a scope lens brought him so much comfort, even from so far away. Waving lightly, he could feel the stupid smile on his face, the glass reflecting the sunlight again. He was just out of range to be really visible, even through his cameras, but knowing he had his back was enough.
Blinking against the blinding sandy image, Hound rubbed his head a bit with a frown.
What the hell had that been.
Him.
Yeah, super helpful, thank you so much brain.
His vision almost went blue again and he rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes briefly before shaking his head.
These were the things that were truely starting to drive him insane, snippets of memories that he simply couldn’t place. Had that been on Earth? New Kaon? Somewhere else entirely? And who was this mystery person that made him think of one specific shade of blue.
He’d even gone to a store and purchased a small tin of that specific shade of blue from his memory cores, just desperate to have something tangible, to make it feel real.
The box of the horrible rust sticks, which he had given to Deadlock, was now that blue and all of his possessions from Earth were inside. Along with a few things he had gotten since coming back, including that little figurine which had been in the box.
Optimus had told him it had been one of the thirteen, as it was part of a game that was used to re-tell their lives, but he couldn’t remember for the life of him the name.
Just another one of those things that bothered him, his memory had turned into one of a goldfish overnight. Not terrible dissimilar to what happened to his old man.
His throat tightened slightly, no, he was not going to think of that right now. He was not going to think of his parents, his father, he just wasn’t.
Shaking his head a bit, he looked back to the flight-frame who was still struggling with landing his shots on the targets.
There were a few other young soldiers talking quietly together, almost laughing at the poor mech and his terrible aim. His face grew hot as his anger started to steam, pushing off the wall, he briefly checked his rifle at his back before moving over.
The taller of the two, who was still shorter than Hound, grinned and waved him over, “Hey Hound, we were talking about potential deployments.” There was a tone there, something with disgust and interest.
Taking a breath, he tried to keep his tone casual, “How do you mean, Tripgage?” The blue mech, the wrong shade of blue, shrugged a bit, “Talking about the planets we might see, the other aliens we might meet. Seeing actual organics.” The tone was full of disgust and the child pretended to gag.
His eye twitched, “You sound like organics are something to ogle at or judge.” Snorting a bit, Tripgage and his friend, Rotostrike, both nodded, “Well, yeah. Could you imagine? Organics, things that can just squish under foot and get caught in your plating.”
How could someone so young and inexperienced have this much room to judge.
”My creator,” that’s how, “he apparently has served on a couple of organic worlds and knows some mecha from a partially organic world, from everything I’ve heard it sounds revolting.” His eye twitched again but this time his fingers joined it.
It was taking far too much in him to not throw out his fist to hit this kid in the mouth.
Nodding a bit, Rotostrike joined in, “I heard that organics can be venomous, just kill our systems. Toxic and disgusting.” This kid sounded less like general dislike and distrust and near hate, “I hope to never see anything organic or meet one of the living ones, if you can call that living.” They both laughed and looked at Hound, as if thinking he’d join their laughter.
Anger was boiling under his skin, “I would suggest keeping those opinions to yourselves, unless you want the barrel of my rifle down your throat. Sentient beings, even organics, deserve basic respect and I think many have earned it.”
Scoffing, Tripgage shook his head, “Quintessons are techno-organics, it can’t get much worse than that, what, you think they deserve our respect?” The only reason why his fist didn’t connect with the kid's face was because Dion grabbed his arm, “Hound, I could use your help, Mainland is still struggling with the targets.”
There was a strain to the older mech's voice, even as Tripgage’s eyes had gone bigger than any plate Hound had owned on Earth.
“Yes, sir.” Taking a breath, he followed.
Dion’s hold on him remained though and the older mech lowered his voice to speak quickly, “You cannot let their talk get to you Hound, I understand Earth is made up of organic life but for mecha like that it is just common talk.” Gritting his teeth, he sucked a sharp breath through them.
“They are insulting my home.” And who he was, who he had spent the first thirty-five years of his life as, even if he wouldn’t be that person again. Dion only knew that he’d come back, the man had seen it a couple of times in his life apparently, but he didn’t know that Hound had been… Harold Jackson.
Sighing, Dion nodded, “I will handle it, but you nearly striking another soldier will get you worse than washed out of here, alright?” Nodding a bit firming, Hound looked down at Mainland.
Another blue mech and this poor flight frame had no idea how to fire a gun, let alone aim one.
Looking to Dion briefly, Hound carefully dropped to a knee and rested his hand on the femme’s shoulder, “Hey, let me help.” She looked up, just about ready to cry before nodded and wiping at her eyes, “Primus, I feel ridiculous.” He smiled and shrugged a bit, “Well, you learn more from failing than from succeeding first try. Come on.”
He could hear Tripgage and Rotostrike returning to make fun of the femme flight frame he was trying to help. Sparing a glance at Dion as the man moved over to speak with them, finally.
Sighing carefully, he brought his own gun back from his back and turned off the safety, “Alright, first thing is the fact I think your scope is lined up wrong so we’re going to use my gun.” The sound of someone falling over behind him almost brought a smile to his face.
Almost.
—
It was the sheer volume of noise that had his heart racing and filled with desperation, the familiar sound and smell sending bile into his mouth. Tears into his eyes as he raced for or from something, endlessly.
He woke with a start, the sound of a scream remunerating through his head, something pinning him down as his fist nearly collided with god only knew what or who in the dark as his sobs were choked, tears sliding down his face as he struggled to breathe.
God, he hated nightmares. Especially ones of the past.
His suit was dark and the piloting seat was part of what was keeping him pinned, but the other clearly was coming from outside the suit, still connected and mostly online.
Implants throbbing as he tried to bring his monitors back online, their sleep mode incredibly sluggish.
They were blinding when they came back on, even though it was clearly still late out, but there was a difference between no monitors and several now beaming in what little light there was from outside.
Bluestreak was gone but he knew that, he’d gone to bed without his boyfriend as the sniper was watching over another unit while they worked for the night cycle. But he wasn’t alone like he’d made sure he would be.
Nightmares were common for him, which was why he’d settled under some brush away from the others last night. So to be pinned to the ground by someone for an unknown reason was stressing him out.
”What are you—“ A hand hit his visor, as if that would shut him up, but his cameras finally came back into focus.
Ironhide.
His commander had them low to the ground and brush pulled around them, search lights flicking over the ground and through the sky. A massive ship above them searching, but it didn’t look like a Quintesson ship.
It wasn’t organic enough.
A ping brought his attention over to his comms and he ensured his cockpit camera was off before answering, “What, what’s going on?” His voice was still shaky and he was sweating, hands starting to shake again.
”We don’t know, the working team noticed the ship came into the atmosphere and took cover just in case, they were searching near them till a couple of minutes ago. I didn’t know where you’d hidden yourself till well.” Shrugging, Ironhide kept him down against the ground.
Because a bright red mech and a bright yellow one would certainly stand out under a search light.
His hands were still shaking from the nightmare and his breath was coming in short bursts, with his vision slightly, “Thanks, for coming to find me.” Ironhide glanced at him before sighing and hauling him closer, tugging some of the brush more over them.
Ironhide’s grip one was ironclad and he was thankful for it, even under several layers of metal, the light squeeze to his assistance suit was welcome as he bit the edge of his fist. The shaking came full force now and tears started to slide down his face again.
The older mech then started to speak, over comms, quietly, “Back during the war, probably after the first hundred stellar cycles or so, I was growing tired of the fight and being alone all the time.” Sucking in a breath, Sunny balled his hands, “Alone?” His voice was even shaky.
Humming, Ironhide continued, “I ran a lot of solo missions back then, it was still so early on and we were all trying to get our footings.” Sunny could almost picture it, a Cybertron that was still technically on the brink of war, when all their city states were trying to divide and figure out a side.
“I was complaining about it to someone you haven’t met, uh, won’t meet and they asked if I had met anyone on Elita-One’s team. Of course, I hadn’t.” That honestly surprised him, “You didn’t know Elita before the war?” Pausing, Ironhide chuckled, “I didn’t know a lot of people before the war, but I had never met her. As Elita or Ariel.”
His brows furrowed a bit, he had no idea who Ariel was other than the Disney princess. Maybe it was a miss translation.
“Regardless, I hadn’t met her or most of her team. Though only a few made it through the war, you’ve met who this story is about.” He smiled a bit, “So, the next time I was near Polyhex, uh, that’s a city that doesn’t exist anymore, I stopped in to see what this Elita and her elite unit were about and that is where I met Chromi.”
The smile that stretched on his face was bright and shit-eatting, “Oh really?” Chuckling deeply, Ironhide shook his head slightly, “Yeah, yeah. When we met, she held a gun to my head thinking I was a decepticon. I fell for her at that very moment, it took her another fifty cycles to give me the time of day.”
Snorting, Sunny covered his face, “Of course you did, god, you worship the ground she walks on, you know.” The smile on Ironhide’s face was soft, “She deserves it.” Smiling a bit, he tipped his head back against his piloting seat, “How is she doing?”
Ironhide hummed, “Good but she’s stressed, your brother and Arcee are causing some stress for the rest of the unit. Tension.” Humming, Sunny shook his head a bit, “A striker and rescue, even if she isn’t a rescue anymore, can’t work together.” There was something hanging in the air at that.
”Why.” It was less of a question and more bitter, ah, the old caste system was rearing its ugly head in conflict with Earth standards, “Anxiety. Striker class are designed to fight the enemy and protect, then Rescue are to run into helpless danger and be a barrier. Sword and shield in a way, but uh, usually Rescue are either way to far in front of Striker to be notices or far enough behind it doesn’t matter.”
He shrugged, “With Sides and Cee, they were already friends and that makes it worse for him. So, yeah, there will be tension.” Though he wondered if there would be another type of tension after a while.
Lord knew that Sideswipe had a type and even if Arcee was one of his great friends, she fit that type pretty well. And well, there weren’t many options for someone like his brother. God, he hated the thought.
Humming again, Ironhide shifted to look through some of the brush, “Oh hell.” And Sunny went to ask what was wrong when the spotlight blinded his cameras.
———
A/N
Oh my god, the move from hell is finally over. I swear to god, not only will I not own as much stuff as my parents do, but I will happily leave half my crap with them if it means I don’t have to move it again.
Dear god why do they have so much stuff?
Anyways, during the move, I was also sick! So that was fun, I literally didn’t start to feel better until a few days ago, so… yeah. Hence the late chapter, but I really wanted to get this up this week.
I’m very happy with how the story is progressing though I promise to clarify some timeline stuff shortly.
If you have any questions, I will probably be online for a while tonight. I want to keep writing while I’m inspired.
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As always, thank you @/Keferon for the initial AU.